


i can feel the darkness coming

by avatar_dragon_rider



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Sort of????, and it's not exactly the same, and newtmas is very touchy, and the newtmas touch language is from kath, i don't even know what to tag, i rewrote one of the deleted scenes, kind of not?, lots of looks, lots of thoughts from newt, newt is exposed to so many triggers, newt's very thinky, newtmas is kind of canon?, poor gally is thirdwheeling SO hard, the OCs in the end notes are from bia's fic, they're heavily implied canon, what even are these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 02:58:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avatar_dragon_rider/pseuds/avatar_dragon_rider
Summary: A number of descriptive words popped into Newt’s mind when he stepped off the ladder and into total darkness: sopping wet, foul-smelling, claustrophobic, pitch black. The one that came out of his mouth?“Eugh. This is gross.”Not quite what he was thinking. But accurate all the same.---My version of Gally, Newt and Thomas's trek through the tunnels on their way into the Last City





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a revision of a fic I'd written before the deleted scenes were released, about the race through the tunnels that Wes and the cast kept mentioning in interviews. I wanted to rewrite it, since it had just been like an 800 word drabble, but then the scene was released. And there were things that needed to be fixed beyond my fic.
> 
> So, here you go. Have a dose of pain from your resident King of Angst.
> 
> \- I made references to the Newtmas touch language from Kath's series, which you can find here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/954207  
> \- The OCs in the end notes are from Bia's gap fic, located here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13874430/chapters/31919943

A number of descriptive words popped into Newt’s mind when he stepped off the ladder and into total darkness, broken only by Gally’s bobbing flashlight. Sopping wet, foul-smelling, claustrophobic, pitch black. Like walking through the esophagus of a huge, disgusting beast. All of those thoughts rolled through his brain. But the one that came out of his mouth? 

“Eugh. This is gross.”

Not quite what he was thinking. But accurate all the same.

Thomas dropped down behind him; Newt felt the murky water roll up over his ankle. Again, _gross._

“Jesus,” Thomas hissed. Though he couldn’t see him, Newt could tell just from Thomas’s tone that he was equally as disgusted at this as Newt. “Yeah, this is great.” And cue sarcasm.

Gally’s sigh could be heard even over the echoing trickle of the water beneath their feet. He shined his flashlight on the wall and started fiddling with an electrical box, flipping switches and turning knobs until the tunnel was illuminated in a soft orange glow.

“Let’s go,” Gally said over his shoulder, and led the way through the sewer.

It was bittersweet, walking in silence. The water swished around their boots, providing an eerie soundtrack to the thoughts running full-speed through Newt’s head. Usually Newt avoided silence like this―he enjoyed background conversations, they gave him something to focus on―but this time he wrapped it around himself like a blanket, getting lost in his mind. The mind he feared he may not have for much longer, if the tremor in his hands meant what he suspected it did. He didn’t understand. They were all supposed to be immune. This wasn’t supposed to be _possible._

Then again, maybe it was. Newt recalled the day Winston had died, when the surviving Gladers were sat around a fire in solemn quiet. He remembered the thought he’d voiced after Teresa’s barely-there statement that not all of them were immune. Back then, it didn’t seem real. But the chill that shot down his spine was very real, both then and now, like his blood had turned to ice water. Goosebumps rose on his arms, just as they had in the Scorch.

_If Winston can get infected, we should assume so can the rest of us._

It had been meant as a word of caution, a warning. To ensure they never lost another friend to that awful virus. Newt never imagined he’d been predicting his own fate.

Newt’s hands started to shake.

Panic shot up his spine like a ghost had traced its finger over the bones. He quickly shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket with the barest glance behind him at Thomas. Thankfully, Thomas’s eyes were down, watching the water so he wouldn’t slip. Newt released a small breath through his nose, his shoulders relaxing.

His thoughts turned now to Minho, trapped in WCKD’s clutches and likely enduring the worst torture imaginable. He wondered if they were any closer to a cure. That would be the only thing that would make Minho’s capture worth it. A cure for the disease that had dug its way into Newt’s veins and single handedly sealed his death. God damn it, he didn’t _want_ to die. Maybe he did, once, but that was years ago. And it had failed anyway. Why did the universe choose now to give him what he no longer wanted?

He had to get out of his head.

“Hey Gally,” he called out to the large boy ahead of him, breaking the silence. His voice was shockingly steady, considering his trembling hands. “How’d you end up with a bloody Crank as a roommate, then?”

Gally was quiet for about half a minute, probably working out how he wanted to answer. It made Newt wonder what the history was between them. Had he been with Lawrence for the full seven months or so they’d been out of the Maze, or was it recent?

“Actually, I owe that Crank my life,” Gally finally said. “When Lawrence and his crew found me, he could have sold me back to WCKD, traded my life for a few bottles of serum. Instead he offered me a place, said I had something worth living for.”

“What’s that?” Thomas asked at the same time Gally came to a stop in front of a smaller, black tunnel that branched off from theirs.

Gally shone his flashlight down the passage before looking over his shoulder at Thomas and Newt. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He hunched over, almost in half, and disappeared into the darkness.

“Where the hell’s he going?” Thomas mumbled. He stepped up to the opening and watched Gally’s light get smaller and smaller.

Newt huffed a sigh, annoyed with Thomas’s continued lack of trust toward Gally. He understood his friend's frustration, truly he did, but Newt wished he would be a touch less negative. The Greenie had spent less than a week in the Glade, and even though he claimed to have watched them the entire time, he had no memories of anything he’d observed. He didn’t know anything about the Gladers’ relationships with each other. Sure, Newt’s relationship with Gally had always been strained, arguing one minute and barely speaking the next, but there were moments when they got along, acted like friends. And as Newt had said earlier, Gally wasn’t in his right mind when he shot Chuck. He didn’t deserve to be blamed for that.

Minho impaling the shank with a spear, however, was another matter entirely.

“You really think we should trust him? After everything he’s done?”

Thomas’s voice sliced through Newt’s thoughts like a warm knife through butter, and Newt was struck with the realization that at some point, Thomas had stopped watching Gally and was instead standing right in front of him, waiting for an answer.

“What other options do we have?” Newt replied with a slight shrug of his shoulders. He tried not to look like a deer in the headlights; for once in his life, he didn’t really know what to say. “Look, I know this may be hard for you to believe, Thomas, but…” He trailed off as memories came rushing in. 

_Gally standing by the doors, waiting, his face falling at Newt’s barely conscious form. Gally bringing Newt’s meals to the med hut while Minho was out running. Gally building him a crude floor mattress because the hammock irritated his leg. Gally apologizing to him after an argument had gone a little too far. Gally always giving Newt the first jar of his special brew._

He forced himself to come back, continue speaking. His eyes had slid to the side, landed on Gally’s form crouched in the mouth of the tunnel. He returned his gaze to Thomas. “There was a time when Gally was a true friend of mine.”

Thomas didn’t answer, but Newt saw it all in his face. Uncertainty, concern, anger, fear, hatred. But also trust. Trust in Newt, in his words, and that was enough.

“Hey,” Gally spoke up.

Thomas whipped his head around so fast, it made Newt dizzy. He wondered how his neck didn’t crack.

“It’s clear. Let’s move.” Gally turned and started walking back into the dark passage, nearly bent in half to make himself fit.

Thomas stood there for a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons of ditching Gally and finding their own way, before following the former Builder with a shake of his head. “I hope you’re right,” he tosses back at Newt.

_So do I, Tommy._

― 

Unlike the last tunnel they’d gone through, which was large and had actual light fixtures, this one was small and dark and cold and damp. All three of them had to hunch over to fit inside. It smelled like mold, dirty water, cement, and what was left of someone’s fart. Newt’s back and shoulders were getting sore and his leg was not appreciating the awkward position of his upper body, since that meant it needed to take his full weight. Or at least as close to his full weight as possible.

In short, Newt hated every second.

It was too close. Way too close. Constricting. Panic began to set in and Newt considered falling back to put more space between him and Thomas. But that meant having less light, and Newt did not want to be in a cramped, dark space. Cramped on its own was more than enough, thank you.

_Breathe, Newt. Focus. You’re fine. This isn’t the maze, and Thomas is right there. You’re going to be fine._

Gally stopped and turned down a side passage that was barely ten feet long, maybe fifteen if they were lucky. “Alright, this way,” he tossed over his shoulder. He crawled to the opening then perched there, telling the boys to hold up.

Thomas and Newt followed him in and crouched at the junction of the two tunnels. Newt shifted a bit, his leg protesting the folded-up position it was now forced into. This was not helping his claustrophobia _at all._ Thomas glanced back at him; for what reason, Newt didn’t know, but he met Thomas’s eyes and tried to convey a sense of confidence.

He couldn’t have told a fatter lie in his life.

A low rumble echoed off the walls, and for a moment Newt was afraid the ceiling was about to collapse before a train rushed by the opening, the wind whipping Newt’s hair into his face. He breathed a sigh of relief at the fact he was not about to be crushed and swept his bangs out of his eyes.

“Okay!” Gally shouted over the screaming of metal spinning against metal. “We gotta be quick about this! We’re not gonna have a lot of time! Stay on me, okay?!”

Thomas looked back at Newt again, and this time their confusion was mutual. A lot of time for what? Newt just wanted out of there. It was cold, his arm was tingling and starting to itch, his leg was sore, it was way too dark and too close and he wanted to be back in the sun.

Newt didn’t even realize the train had passed until he heard Gally shout “Okay, let’s go!” and watched him leap out of the mouth of the tunnel. Thomas followed and Newt hurried after him, dreading the idea of getting left behind here.

Thomas leapt forward, the momentum nearly causing him to face-plant on the tracks. He caught himself before he could obtain a broken nose, and something in Newt smiled at the way Thomas’s arms flailed about like a baby bird trying to fly. It was both idiotic and endearing, like everything else about him.

Newt pushed away from the ledge before he lost his courage and landed hard on the ground. His hand wrapped around the cold track for balance and he used it to push himself up. Somewhere behind him, Gally was putting a grate over the opening.

He took in his surroundings as he stood, absently rubbing his right forearm. If the virus didn’t drive him insane, the damned itching certainly would. It was _obnoxious._

They stood in a huge cavern, the tracks set into the middle of the floor with a few feet of space on either side so the cars wouldn’t scrape against the walls. Newt was reminded of the heist they’d pulled off a few days ago―had it been a few days? Or was it last week? Newt didn’t even know anymore. Even before coming to the Last City, the days had started to blur.

“Great.” He threw as much distaste into the word as he could manage, turning around to face Thomas. “Tommy loves trains, don’t you ba-ate?” 

Everything came to a screeching halt. _What the fuck was that?!_ Had he really almost just said ‘babe?’ He’d acted fast, switched to ‘mate’ at the last second, but did Thomas notice? Judging by the death glare sent his way about the train comment, he likely didn’t. Thank fuck. Newt smirked at him to hide how flustered he was.

“Great, ‘cause we’re gonna see another one real soon!” Gally spoke so fast Newt almost didn’t catch it. The taller boy started sprinting down the tunnel, running on the wood of the tracks and shouting a “come on!” over his shoulder.

Newt watched him for a second, glanced behind him at Thomas, then took off. Thomas’s footsteps thundered in harmony with his own.

On and on they ran, Gally in front, Newt in the middle, and Thomas bringing up the rear. Newt tried to slide back into the old habits he’d developed while running the Maze with Minho―even breathing, pump your arms, one foot after the other―but all he could focus on was the feeling of nails pounding into his ankle whenever his right foot hit the ground. He hadn’t run like this since before his fall, and he didn’t miss it.

Wait, that was a lie. He’d hauled ass back in that lightning storm, the night they met Jorge and Brenda. But back then he’d been so focused on keeping up with the others and not getting electrocuted that he’d barely noticed the protests coming from his leg.

This time he noticed.

He also noticed that Gally seemed to be getting further ahead. Was he speeding up? Newt looked behind him to see Thomas gaining ground. Were they _both_ speeding up?

No. He was falling behind.

As if to prove his point, the pulsing pain in his ankle was joined by a similar one in is knee. _Fuck._ That’s two. If his shin goes out too, he’s done.

“Gally, what the hell are we doing?!” Thomas shouted.

“Less talking, more running!” Gally yelled back.

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one running on shattered and fractured bones that never fully healed.

The rumbling started up again, and Newt felt Thomas closing the gap between them. He turned his head over his shoulder to see that Thomas was only a few feet behind him now, whereas before it had been closer to a dozen or so. If Newt tripped now, he’d likely bring Thomas down with him. Then they’d both be screwed.

The thought made his steps falter, but only slightly. He caught himself before any serious damage could be done, but he could feel the pain all the way up in his hip now. He fought tooth and nail to keep his face blank, especially with Thomas so close to him, but every few steps he’d lose focus and a hiss would escape from between his teeth.

Suddenly the lights started to change. The white ones lining the wall began to flash, starting from far ahead of them and shining in a pattern all the way down the tunnel, like a wave. The tracks had started to shake, too.

Another train.

That’s what Gally had been so worried about.

Newt had fallen so far behind he was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Thomas. He didn’t stop, though; he absolutely refused to stop. He couldn’t risk it, not when they were so close. So damn _close._ He just had to keep breathing. Just keep breathing, and they’d make it.

Some part of him registered Thomas and Gally shouting to each other. Someone announced they were almost there. Newt felt a hand on his back, giving him the slightest push forward.

“Newt, we gotta move, come on!”

Thomas’s voice, right in his ear.

The hand stayed.

Newt screwed his eyes shut, unable to hide the agony. It pulsed from his ankle to his knee to his hip and into his ribs. Every breath was torture. It felt like trying to breathe in the Scorch during a sandstorm―dry, hot, awful.

“You can do this, Newt, just a little further, you got it.”

“Thomas, Newt, come on!”

“We gotta go, we gotta go, stay on me, Newt. Stay right behind me.”

The hand left.

Newt opened his eyes and saw Thomas racing ahead of him, tailing Gally, heading for a ladder that led up to a small platform bathed in red light. He tried to speed up, stay right behind Thomas, like he’d been told, but every step felt like someone had taken his machete and sliced it up his body. He was thrown back to the early morning corridors of the Maze, straddling Minho’s back as he sprinted to the Glade. His legs bounced with each step and it felt like his ankle was going to detach from his leg.

He was yanked back to the present when his vision suddenly went black. It was barely more than a flicker, like when a lamp’s bulb is dying, but it was enough to send a spike of panic through him. The itching traveled up the length of his arm like a bullet shot from a gun, and Newt stumbled as his hand flew to his shoulder. He blinked and hot tears traced their way down his cheeks. _Just a bit further. You can make it. It’s not far, you can―_

He hit a raised plank.

Pain lanced up his shin, right along the fracture line.

Everything stopped. Everything.

Newt might have screamed. He wasn’t sure. There was only pain, anguish, suffering. He couldn’t breathe.

He went down. He collapsed to the ground, facedown on the tracks.

_Is this it? Is this how the world finally wins?_

_No. It’s not. Get up. GET UP._

He looked up, gasping for air, pushing himself onto his hands and knees. Knee. One of them could barely bend, let alone take his weight.

Someone was calling his name. Someone else was calling Thomas’s. He struggled to his feet, whimpering, blinded by lights and the agony that had replaced the oxygen in his lungs. He was barely standing for more than a second before something―no, someone―slammed into him and pushed him back down to the ground.

He lay between the rails, wooden panels pressing into his back, and arm thrown over his stomach.

The train passed over them.

Newt turned his head and found himself nose to nose with Thomas. His lips were moving. He was speaking, but Newt couldn’t hear him. Not over the roar of the train and the rushing blood in his ears and the hammering of his heart. It was too fast. Everything was too fast. Newt tried to focus on Thomas’s expression next to him, the twitch in his jaw, the clenched eyes, the fear in his face. 

He had acted on instinct. He had not known if this would kill them.

It could have killed them.

Thomas could have died.

_They almost died._

Newt started breathing rapidly. He couldn’t get enough air. Every breath was like a knife shoved down his throat. The arm tightened around his middle, which didn’t exactly help. But it reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

"Newt. Newt, it's okay. We made it. You're alright. Breathe, it's okay."

Newt opened his eyes. Funny, he didn’t remember closing them. The train had passed. The lights no longer flashed. Aftershocks of pain shot through every nerve with each heartbeat, but he could manage that. He took in deep gulps of air as someone―Thomas, his brain supplied―groaned beside him, sitting up and rubbing his head.

And then he was gone, thrown against the wall by a furious Gally.

“What the _fuck_ was that?!” he shrieked, louder and higher and angrier than Newt had ever heard him. “You dumb shank! You could have been _killed!”_

Newt turned his head to watch the exchange. He didn’t think he was ready to sit up just yet.

Thomas just glared right back at Gally. “I wasn’t going to leave him behind.”

“Thomas, that was way too risky. You should have listened and stayed―”

“I wasn’t going to leave him!” Thomas said again, more forcefully this time. He pushed Gally off and straightened his shoulders to try and match Gally’s height. Fat chance. Gally was taller than even Newt. “And I sure as shit wasn’t going to let you risk your neck when you’re the only one who knows how to get us in and out of the City.”

Gally sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You could have been crushed. Those tracks...you’re lucky there was enough space under that train.”

“You’re lucky I don’t break that big nose of yours for trying to keep me back.”

Newt could hear Gally’s exasperated inhale from his spot on the ground, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smirk. It seemed Thomas could draw that noise out of literally anyone.

Gally looked at the ceiling, then the direction the train came from, then the direction the train went, then sighed. “Well. I guess I’ll admit it, that was a first.” He rubbed his left pec, breathed out a heavy sigh as he looked down to Newt. “Never were great runners, were we, Newt?”

Thomas rolled his eyes and stepped away from the wall. He bent down a bit and extended a hand to Newt to help him up.

Newt heaved a breath that he hoped came across as a laugh. “Well, I’ve only got one good leg.” He accepted Thomas’s hand and pulled himself up. Gally took to his other side to stabilize him.

“Yeah, I’ve only got one good lung,” the Builder said. He turned away at a sharp look from Thomas, starting back toward the platform.

Now that he was standing, Newt suddenly didn’t feel so good. His vision swam and he pitched sideways a bit; Thomas gripped his upper arm to steady him. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Newt just stood there a moment, still breathing heavy. He lifted his eyes to Thomas’s for a brief moment before looking away again. He could have gotten them killed. How could he live with himself?

A light cough tore its way up his throat, and he swallowed the taste of bile before giving a slight nod and soft “Yeah,” to Thomas.

Thomas’s concern didn’t leave his eyes. He clapped Newt on the back a couple times, drawing up another cough, and rested his other hand on Newt’s shoulder. The warm weight was comforting, the way it always was. He just hoped Thomas couldn’t feel how fast his heart was still pounding.

“This way,” Gally called to them, already halfway up the ladder.

Newt limped over to him, heavily favoring his bad leg and coughing into his fist. He heard Thomas following him; worry and concern radiated off him in waves. Newt could almost physically feel Thomas’s eyes on his back every step of the way. 

He gripped the rungs of the ladder, then ducked his head to breathe for a minute. Everything hurt. It felt like that train had actually ran him over and left his mangled body behind.

Hands gripped his waist. Newt turned over his shoulder to see Thomas right behind him, ready and willing to give him a boost up. He sensed movement in front of him and looked up. Gally was holding a hand out to him to help pull him up.

Newt hated this. He hated feeling like he needed others to help him, that they needed to pull his weight for him. The hands tightened on his waist, thumbs rubbing up and down, and the offered hand didn’t move. With a sigh of defeat, he gripped Gally’s wrist and pulled himself up. Thomas lifted him by the hips, and he was up the ladder with barely any weight placed on his bad leg. He crawled awkwardly to the side and sat against the wall, rubbing his arm, while Gally turned back to help Thomas up.

Thomas moved over to Newt, his hand finding the one Newt had been using to rub his arm. Newt’s eyes met Thomas’s and he laced their fingers. 

They stayed like that for a minute or so before Gally broke the silence. “We’ll rest here for a bit. Catch our breath. Just keep your heads down.” He turned his back to them, dangled his legs over the edge of the platform.

While Thomas stared at Gally―no doubt turning over in his head the words Newt had told him earlier, about how Gally had once been a true friend―Newt thought about the itch in his arm, the pain in his shoulder, the blackout he’d had just before he fell, the jumble his thoughts had been in the entire time they’d been down there. He thought about what it all meant. He couldn’t deny it anymore.

He had the Flare.

He was doomed.

_How am I gonna tell Tommy?_

_I’m not going to tell Tommy. He has enough to worry about. I’ll let it run its course then…go quietly. Leave something for Thomas to help him adjust, like a letter or something, and…slink off. Put a bullet in my head where no one can see it. Not anything I haven’t tried before._

Two fingers traced the inside of his forearm. His infected forearm, but Thomas didn’t know that. Newt realized his eyes had fallen into his lap and he lifted them to Thomas again. He gave a slight shake of his head and released Thomas’s hand. Leaning to the left a bit, he used the wall for support and stood up. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”

Gally looked back at him and nodded, pulling his legs up to stand. 

Newt turned to Thomas, who had stood when Newt did, and tapped their knuckles twice. Thomas didn’t look convinced, but he kept quiet. Newt was thankful for that.

Together they followed Gally up a flight of stairs and into the City.

― 

The Last City was absolutely _enormous,_ bigger than anything Newt could ever imagine. Trains raced overhead (Newt decided he never wanted to see another train again in his life after tonight), buildings reached up into the clouds, their lit windows shining like huge square stars against the night sky. Very few people were about, but given the voice that rang through the streets about a mandatory curfew, that was understandable.

_Act like you’ve seen it before._

Sure, Gally. Whatever you say.

No matter how hard Newt tried to avoid it, he kept thinking about the infection checks they’d passed after coming up from the platform. Had they ended up going through them, Newt wouldn’t have made it through. He knew that now, he accepted it. Didn’t mean he had to like it, but he’d been through the stages of grief a few too many times by now. He didn’t have any desire to do it again, especially not for himself.

The next time Newt became fully aware of his surroundings, they were on an abandoned bridge. He and Thomas kept looking around, waiting for someone to spot them and sound the alarm and bring WCKD to them.

Gally silenced their unspoken worries. “Don’t worry. No one comes up here anymore, you’re safe.”

“Why not?” Newt asked.

“You’ll see,” Gally said after several seconds of quiet.

They walked on until they reached the end of the bridge. Newt’s feet were killing him. He just wanted to go back to camp and curl up. Today had been awful.

His everything stopped when he realized the end of the bridge was actually the _end of the fucking bridge. ___

__It wasn’t finished._ _

__It dropped off._ _

__Newt’s heart started pounding again. He looked down at the ground far, far below them. A fall from that height would most definitely kill him. This was higher than the wall. Much, much higher._ _

__“Alright,” Gally spoke from behind them. “Make some room, boys.”_ _

__Newt turned just in time to see Gally running. He stepped back, noticed Thomas’s flailing arms, and watched as Gally leapt across the chasm and landed on a tiny ledge. The gap was maybe…30 feet? 40? Newt didn’t know. He was too busy trying to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest. His eyes fell to the ground again and he pictured his broken body lying there among the rubble. His ears filled with tortured screams― _his_ screams, he remembered―and his breath caught in his throat._ _

__He couldn’t do this._ _

__“You’re up!” Gally called to them. “Let’s go!”_ _

__Thomas looked to Newt. Newt met his eyes, looked back to Gally, at Thomas again. This could not be happening. Absolutely could not. What if they fell? What if _Thomas_ fell?_ _

__Thomas’s eyes hardened. He was ready. “Together.”_ _

__Newt nodded, trying to take even a smidgen of Thomas’s resolve. “Together.” He hoped Thomas didn’t notice the way his voice trembled._ _

__Two pats to his chest. Five steps back, eyes on the ledge, on Gally. Running, running, kicking off, flying. The feeling of his insides squeezing in on themselves. Thomas screaming._ _

__Thomas ahead of him._ _

__Newt was too far back._ _

__A sharp inhale when his toes hit the ledge. His body spasming in terror. His foot slipping, his bad leg collapsing._ _

__The vines giving way. Tangling, wrapping, pulling. Hands scrabbling for purchase, toes kicking the wall. He might have screamed._ _

__Vines around his arms. Trapping him. The wall had grabbed him. He was stuck. Hanging there, limp, lifeless. Sobbing._ _

__But…vines weren’t warm. Vines didn’t speak. Two voices, one in each ear. Vines―no, _arms_ ―around his back, pinning him to the wall. His feet were on the ledge. When had he gotten back on the ledge?_ _

__He opened his eyes and was met with a stone wall. He felt a hand on his face, five fingers tracing from the side of his forehead down to his jaw. Again. And again._ _

__Tommy._ _

__Newt looked to the side, met Thomas’s eyes. Together they leaned in, their foreheads touching, eyes falling closed. Thomas never once removed his hand from Newt’s face._ _

He started going through the routine Minho had put him through when he was healing from his jump. When he was overwhelmed by everything and just wanted to let go. He could hear Minho’s voice in his head, talking him through it.

_Deep inhale. As long as you can. Hold for five, then let it out slow. Relax your shoulders. Let it all in, then let it out. Again. Keep going._

Newt’s heart rate steadied.

__“Okay,” Gally said from Newt’s other side, sounding breathless. “We are _not_ going back this way.” _ _

__

__

__Thomas snorted. "You think?"_ _

__Newt managed a smirk at the way Gally's eyes fell closed as he clearly fought the urge to punch Thomas in the face. "Let's go."_ _


	2. Tunnel Trek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the original Tunnel Trek fic, for funsies

It happens so fast. One minute they're alone in the tunnels, Gally in front and Thomas hanging back with Newt. Then the train whistle blows.

Gally panics, starts sprinting to the platform an impossible distance away. There's no way they can make that. Well, maybe Thomas can. He was a Runner, after all.

But Thomas doesn't speed up. While Gally gets farther and farther ahead, Thomas stays back with Newt, who can barely run with the shooting pain in his leg. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. The train is getting closer. He can't afford to let Thomas die because of him. Newt's dying anyway, it doesn't matter. _He_ doesn't matter.

He yelps as he trips over a loose rock and almost goes down were it not for Thomas's fast arms. He's still running. Newt tries to keep up, stumbling over his feet. They won't make it.

"Just leave me," he chokes out past the lump in his throat. He won't cry. Not here. God, it hurts.

"No, Newt. Never." Thomas speeds up, half-dragging Newt along with him. "Like you told me. We're ending this together, one way or another."

Newt clings to Thomas, trying to keep weight off his bad leg as he hobbles along after him. The light from the train headlight is almost blinding after the darkness of the tunnels. Though Newt is more blinded by pain than anything at this point.

The whistle blows. Gally shouts for them to hurry. Newt shuts his eyes, bracing himself for the impact of the train that never comes. Instead, he's being tossed onto a hard floor, sliding at least a few feet. Or maybe that's Gally pulling him. Is Thomas that strong? He doesn't know. Pain is _flying_ through his body. He can't even feel his ankle anymore. Hot tears flow freely down his cheeks; he's powerless to stop them.

The train goes by. Someone's calling his name. He has his eyes closed, his jaw clenched. Someone pulls him into their lap, their touch gentle. The voice comes back, and this time it's closer. Right in his ear.

"Newt. Newt, it's okay. We made it. You're alright. Breathe, it's okay."

Tommy.

His voice is soothing, calming. It brings him back just enough to focus. Newt starts going through his routine. The routine Minho would put him through when he was healing from his jump. When the pain was too much and he just wanted to let go.

_Deep inhale. As long as you can. Hold for five, then let it out slow. Relax your shoulders. Let it all in, then let it out. Again. Keep going._

He hears Minho talking him through it as he does. Minho's voice in his head and Thomas's in his ears. It still hurts, hurts like _bloody hell,_ but at least he can breathe again. He opens his eyes, slowly, and his heart jumps when he sees Thomas staring down at him. His face is so close, or maybe that's just his claustrophobia kicking in.

"You okay, Newt?" Thomas asks in a whisper, careful not to freak Newt out again.

Newt nods, wiping the heel of his hand under his eyes to erase his tears. It's not the first time Thomas has seen him cry. He gets the feeling it won't be the last.

"I'm alright. Just needed a minute." He sits up, leaning forward to gently rub a spot on his shin. One of the break points. "I don't think I've run that much since the maze." He knows his feeble attempt at humor won't ease Thomas's worry, but maybe it will quiet Thomas's never-ending questions before they start.

Gally is the one who speaks next, completely silencing the question on Thomas's lips. "We're almost through. Once you're ready, Newt, we'll head up the platform stairs and then we'll be in."

Newt nods, glancing over his shoulder at Thomas. "I'm ready. Let's go."

Thomas looks unsure, worry flooding his eyes, but he wordlessly stands up, bringing Newt with him. "Newt, are you sure― "

"Tommy, shut up. I'm fine." That's a damn lie. His leg is still throbbing, his chest burns, his throat hurts, and now his arm is tingling, like bugs burrowing through his veins. Fuck. "The sooner we get up there, the closer we are to getting Minho back."

Thomas clearly wants to argue, but swallows his pride and surrenders. "Alright. Let's go."

**Author's Note:**

> The one thing Vince had been dreading when he set foot on the beach of the safe haven was not what most people would expect. It wasn’t Thomas’s urgent need of medical care that didn’t take place on a rocking boat. It wasn’t Newt’s impending funeral, or the unloading of supplies from the Berg Jorge had flown from the city to Paradise.
> 
> It was the woman standing in front of him, the child in her arms not even a year old, looking behind him expectantly at the boat anchored offshore.
> 
> The sooner it was done, the better.
> 
> “He’s not here,” Vince told her.
> 
> The small smile was instantly wiped from her face. Vince had never felt so guilty.
> 
> “Wh-what?” The tremor in her voice broke his heart.
> 
> “Cranks got him. We were attacked. We tried, but there was nothing we could do. I’m…sorry, Fran. I’m so sorry.”
> 
> Fran’s words caught in her throat and she hugged Ian tighter. She took a moment to compose herself, then said, “Where’s Newt?”
> 
> All things considered, she handled the news of Joe’s death better than Vince had expected. But he supposed she was waiting to grieve with her family. Ian. Manny. Newt.
> 
> A choked, wet gasp broke the silence. Vince didn’t need to look behind him to know the tall kid―Gally, he’d been told―had stepped off the Berg with a body in his arms. A body webbed with dark veins. A body with blond hair that once glowed in the sunlight like an angel.
> 
> Newt had always been an angel.
> 
> And now he had gone home.
> 
> Fran collapsed to her knees in the sand and Vince’s arms were instantly around her, holding her as she screamed her pain at the world.  
> \---  
> I'M SORRY. My next fic will be part 3 of the In Your Arms series, and it will be significantly less painful.


End file.
